I made the Saturday morning flammable run this morning. The flammable run consists of emptying my 5-gallon bucket of used motor oil; replenishing shed gas for lawn equipment; and replenishing propane for the grill. I like for the timing to be such that I can do at least two of the three when I make the run. All of the fruit lined up this morning, and I got to do all of them.
The place where I’ve gotten propane for the past seven years just closed. It was a mom-and-pop RV place near the northwest corner of Sullivan and Madison Boulevard. They had cats, and handwritten receipts, and some parts and accessories that looked to have been sitting on the shelf since the first Bush administration, with prices scratched on in grease pencil. There was a battered, immobile Lincoln Continental out front with a worn-out air suspension, so you couldn’t see the tops of the tires at all. It was your classic low overhead place, but they were friendly, and I always enjoyed going in there. It was appealing enough to make it something less than a chore.
So this morning I bought my propane a few blocks west at the new Madison RV Supercenter. They were friendly and efficient too, but I felt a little unfaithful as I gazed around at the gleaming storefront and showroom. I shared that with Lea when I got home, and she said “Bo, think about what that land is worth. They’re fine.” She’s right. She usually is.
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